"Artists Who Shit Where They Eat"

I was having dinner tonight with a group of friends and something that was said in conversation struck me, invigorated me and reverberated like a .22 caliber bullet in my brain.

I'll preface this briefly:

The comment was made by an acquaintance of mine who is a painter, sculptor and artist. He is deeply intelligent, soulful, charming and funny and I've always respected him for his wit, insight and charisma, though we've never really known each other beyond surface chit-chat, mutual acknowledgment and (I presume) casual respect. From what I know, he has become successful enough as an artist to enjoy the fruits of his labor. So, what he said (through my perception) is basically this: Is art something because it is beautiful or meaningful, or is it something simply because a museum, gallery or critic or friend says so? (This is no revelation or new thought mind you) but it is a quintessential question and it reminded me...for example, of the art exhibit "Cloaca".

I quote:

"Cloaca is a giant machine that makes shit. At one end of the machine, they pour 2.6 gallons of water and a meal from a fancy SoHo restaurant. 27 hours and 33 feet later, a nozzle squirts out a well-formed piece of crap".

"Basically, Cloaca is a computerized mechanical system designed to mimic the human digestive process. The machine, which eats better than the majority of us, chews the food using a meat grinder and a garbage disposal, then passes it through six reactor chambers that use various chemicals to do the job of a digestive system. At 2:30 PM every day a crowd gathers, and the machine dutifully drops a shit onto a conveyor belt. The crowd cheers. Hooray for shit!"

"Why is it art when this machine shits on a conveyor belt in a museum? And why don't the cops think its art when I take a shit on the sidewalk outside the museum? As Duchamp teaches us, there are two ways to look at Art: Cloaca is shit that is art, or Cloaca is shit that is shit. There are two ways to look at Cloaca: Cloaca is shit that is art, or Cloaca is shit that is shit".

This is the fundamental point:

"As shit art, Cloaca has engendered some important thinking. But as shit, Cloaca has played another role: making fools of the literati. From the outsider's perspective, it's pretty funny to watch a bunch of book-learnin' types waiting breathlessly for shit, and then applauding when it arrives. Cloaca makes the wildest stereotypes of intellectual snobs a complete reality".

"In its most essential reading, Cloaca (and my friend) directly confront the contemporary state of confusion regarding when or where human life begins and ends. Through a monumental simulacrum tracing the path made by what we eat from the mouth to the anus, Cloaca forces us to see this process as something more than simply mechanical and catch ourselves in the act of self-identification and realization".

My initial reaction to my friends comment was anger! And as I examined my anger and it's roots...I had an epiphany! I was angry because I'd not given it any thought myself. I'd not deconstructed, chewed the fat, nor examined my own art enough to mock it, revel in it, destroy it...create it. I felt vain, self absorbed and stupid. I was angry because I'd held the belief that I was in control, and my perceptions of "art" were set, immutable and unchallenged. My ego, had become my undoing. By limiting myself to these set perceptions, this comfort zone, I'd built a wall around my own creativity and ability. I'd forgotten to break down my own barriers and revel, laugh and examine the irony of my own "shit". Intellectual snob...indeed!

From my perspective, the primary function of art is to question, convey or otherwise enlighten our human perspective, viewpoint or realizations of life...in it's highest form...life! Yes, shit is shit...but it is also our highest aspiration...because we are alive, and we can shit, love, laugh, fuck, create art and procreate...

I am learning not to be an ignorant snob...nor take my shit...for granted...

In the immortal words of Descartes, and in honor of the conversation..."I think, therefore, I am"...

In the immortal words of my friend: "Shit it, and they will buy it"...

In the immortal words of George Carlin: "Buy your own shit, this shits mine"...

Ok...enough shit...